Labyrinth of Solitude
by Omegilla
Summary: In yet another cycle in the realm once ruled by Dragons, a trio of adventurers fight to survive in an ancient labyrinth.


**Author Note**: _This is for the most part a writing exercise for myself while working on some original pieces. Regardless of how it is received, if I do like working on it and can give more to the story, I will plan to put out further. _

**_Labyrinth _****_of Solitude_**

With the dew seeping into the leather, a sudden chill wracked the bones of the slumbering adventurer, waking her with a start. Eyes peering about and shifting more upright, she took in the surroundings. They were the same as they had been. Cragged stone walls in either direction of the hallway in an expansive maze that they sat in, huddled by their bonfire. With naught but the gloom of the gray sky threatening to bring rain down upon them above and the varied patches of mud, dead leaves and stone at her feet. Still, light had come and the bonfire she had rekindled now fading once more, and thus they must move.

Now standing, the adventurer went to fetch her mud-splotched cloak. Covered in leaves, she began to try and brush them off. They came not with ease but with a seemingly feisty resistance for inanimate, dead things. And her short-cut auburn hair was no less spared the same treatment after clearing off her cloak. She began to buckle her various pieces of armor, such as her steel-plated shoulder and knee caps, seeing to tidying her things.

As she fussed with her effects, this awakened the two figures who lay not far from her. Against the opposite wall, a bulkish figure in some form of full chainmail armor, clothed by a dirty white cloak, his head bowed originally in a deep slumber, had now begun to rise up to show his helm. A dull gray armet it was, which a small fading blue plume at the top, which had been at one time a marker of his rank as a knight of his order, yet now it… meant so little. In his hand, which was caressed against his body was a large, intimidating grandlance, though it was a curious weapon, for its hilt and handle mimicked that of a chime.

Both a cleric and a knight-errant by trade, Duroc was a loyal friend, for the ponderous sloth he was. She wondered was truly lay under all that armor, for he rarely seemed to take any of it off, and certainly never in her presence. He began to speak then, in his low and soft voice, though with his helmet it also gained a metallic tone. "_Good morn, my lady Iacel. As well as you, master Gaelurd."_ He inclined his head towards the figure lying on the cot, nearest the fire.

This was her other compatriot. Gaelurd, a fool by all stripes yet a silver-tongued thief. This vagabond lay in a tattered and mixed assembly of armor and robes. She looked down at him with his moronic grin that played across his features as he began to first wake, dreaming whatever he had, feeling nothing but pity and frustration with him. She murmured a prayer under her breath with that. Notably, he bore the cape of a student of Ahlborillion Academy, a ministry of soul sorceries in the kingdom of the same name, but she knew this had been something of thievery for no one of his mannerisms could survive in a school of that prestige.

Yet she could not doubt his capability, for he bore the sorcerous staff in his hands with skill. A staff black though mixed in part with a milky white like onyx, a pale and cloudy crystalline stone affixed to the end of the staff. The question of what function exactly the staves served was a question needing answering for Iacel.

"_Hardly a good morning, sir knight. We've been roaming this godsforsaken labyrinth for two days now, and we've no idea how close we are to the actual tower."_

Iacel gave a tiresome breath, looking down at the mage, "_Well, if you'd like to turn back, feel free to, if you think you can find your way back."_ She herself honestly wished to go back at this point. The cold hard walls a constant reminder they were trapped, yet the sky above to taunt them with the poison of hope. Entering this maze was a mistake, but there was no where but forward to go. If she looked back, she was lost.

* * *

Duroc stood up from his slouching position, shaking the dew off of his helmet. Due to the shape of his armor, he had to be certain to keep water out. The fear of drowning in one's own armor was easily the most disturbing way to die. He lift his lance with his right arm, laying the long heft of lance onto his strong shoulder. The strange mage fellow was already up from his spot, despite being last to wake, and was on the move.

Turned, and turned did the group through the maze, meeting more and more dark stone walls, waves of depression buffeting Duroc at each turn. only ever once in a while would they catch a glimpse of their tower at various angles. It almost seemed to pierce the sky, a dark silhouetted obelisk against the otherwise patterned grey-and-white overcast sky

A relief to the monotony came at last when the sound of a growl lightly touched Duroc's ears. He quickly seized Gaelurd's shoulder, forcing him to stop. The mage gave a start, as if to tussle with the hulking figure that was the knight Duroc. The sudden sobering in the mage's eyes amused Duroc, who then stood absolutely still. Duroc then moved to the corner of the next exchange of hallways they were coming up to, looking down the right corridor.

As expected, the path was covered in undead, who scraped at the walls wantingly, their eyes the dull lifeless white that he'd seen in others. They were dressed in a fashion not of guards but as other adventurers, and their number had to be greater then forty. A deep sickness came to Duroc's stomach with this, wondering if this would truly be their fate. Turning back to the others, he shook his head. _  
_

_"Hollows cover a good deal of that passage. We can just keep on this way and avoid them."_ He had hoped Iacel would agree. He knew Gaelurd was. He was something of a pansy, Duroc thought, but Iacel did not fear the Hollowed like he did. Freaks of nature, beings that defy order.

_"No. We go through them. What are we if not adventurers. We've dealt with undead before."_ Naturally, her response was to plunge into every fight they could come across. Unable to defy her wish, Duroc simply nodded, and began to use the chime handle of his lance to cast protections on them.

* * *

_"I'm not afraid of undead, but why can we not simply go around them? That path is no more important than any other. We've found each path cuts into another at some point. My light signals failed to protect us."_ He knew he was right. All these paths were the same, a contrived illusion to frustrate the impatient. They could easily skip this path, keep turning right at various points and end up on the same path well past the undead, never having to raise a weapon or cast a spell.

_"Because these guys are most likely farther ahead then we are. Look how many there are. This is meant to stop us from continuing. This is where they ended up after hollowing. I'm willing to bet they were at least more in the right direction then we are to have this roadblock set. I want to go that way, so thats where I'm going. Duroc is going to follow me. You said you'd go where I go, but I don't plan to force you to do anything."_ With that, the bitch walked off towards the trail of death in her arrogant stride.

The mass of steel followed shortly behind her, glancing to Gaelurd, as if beckoning him to follow. He waited a few moments, as if caring what happened here. The mage shook his head, following after them. He was a man of his word, yes. He agreed to follow her, and he planned to, but he had no intention to die amongst the undead. The first move was on the knight's. Duroc axe crackled with lightning as he charged the group head on, spitting three of the hollows onto his lance in an impressive display. Yet the horde was unphased, and moved to mob the knight. Flame spewed from Iacel's hands, knocking back the horde as a whole from Duroc. Gaelurd then hiked up to Duroc's point, filling the path with soul magic, like a geyser spewing from his wand the energy struck a fair amount of the hollows, evaporating them into dust.

Yet, a pain shot up from Gaelurd's shoulder, where a wicked arrow was discovered. An archer farther back had begun to loose arrows on them with a deadly accuracy. Surprisingly, Duroc stepped infront of the Mage to absorb an arrow, which bounced off of his plate armor. Iacel stepped forward then and with a blade in her hands which itself was lit on fire, she began hewing away at the hollows, which stumbled backward, unable to really comprehend being beaten back.

The mage quickly focused on the archer, who was taking aim at them again, and fired a homing blast, which whizzed past most of the undead, striking the archer, who stumbled over with a portion of his head missing. By this point, most of the undead had fallen, as Duroc pushed the last hollow of the end of his lance. With a wave of his staff, Gaelurd put out the flames that Iacel had made, which still burned away on the corpses of these undead.

Despite the victory, the damn ache in Gaelurd's shoulder pulsated He could sense poison was in the arrow. Not enough to poison him, but it burned deep. _"These undead were a bit better armed than expected."_ He groaned. Duroc kneeled by him in a surprisingly tender fashion, speaking in his usual soft tones, _"I don't think this will be much of an issue. This is going to hurt, but I can heal any damage this causes." _Before Gaelurd could inquire as to what he meant, a white hot pain, worse then before, shot out of his same shoulder as Duroc ripped the barbed arrow out. He tossed it aside after a nod, and brought a smaller chime over, ringing it about the flesh wound.

As expected of miracles, it began to mend, though the pain still throbbed. With the wound then closed, Duroc pulled Gaelurd up in a rough fashion, nodding satisfactorily at his work. As the mage stood, rubbing his shoulder, he noted Iacel, who was looking down the path. Approaching her, he saw it himself as well. Down the path was a clear dead end.


End file.
